Tuesday, 4 December 2012


I love homemade cookies.

They're warm, soft and moist with chocolate chips, melting and good at the tip of your tongue. They taste wonderful not only because it is full of lovely chocolate-y goodness but also because home baked cookies are full of love. 

Love from the baker shaping the round dessert, love from the person consuming the lovely food, love from the atmosphere around it. When you bake cookies it is not a process but like meeting an old friend; you do not merely follow the instructions but make it your own. 

Making the cookiedough; nibbling chunks of semisweet, chocolate bits in a snowy white plain. Shaping the circles, placing them onto a powdered mat with the careful cautiousness of holding a newborn baby. Baking a cookie is a like an experience itself with new and old.

In a way baking a cookie is a little like life. The first time you bake one you will make small mistakes whether in the temperature of the heat or the amount of butter you've added. But you learn as you bake them again just as in life you learn from your mistakes. You can experiment with your shapes and ingredients just as you can experiment with different situations and styles in life. You can rush forward carelessly while baking a cookie or tread with slow caution just as you can approach life.

Cookies represent life and life is in a cookie.

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